


Shiver For Me Girl

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: The Closer
Genre: F/F, after last woman standing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two of us were made of angel's dust.<br/>I've been around.<br/>But not around enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shiver For Me Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UbiquitousMixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/gifts).



> This is my very first attempt at this fandom and I've only seen a handful of episodes so be patient while I get the hang of these characters. <3

A shockingly tall shot glass slides slowly in front of Brenda and stops directly in her line of vision. A familiar perfume that smells of Lilac arrives second before the sultry voice settles beside her.

“Congratulations.”

The blonde smiles in spite of herself and looks over her shoulder at Sharon Raydor, already taking the empty seat beside her.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how it went first?”

Sharon sips her wine and tilts her chin to gaze down at the half empty glass. “I’m positive it went well.”

“I already have a drink,” Brenda says, holding her own glass of Merlot up for proof.

“In Mexico, it is customary to celebrate a victory with a shot of tequila.” Sharon appears to be very proud of this assessment and she turns to look at the other woman now. Her stomach does this flip-flop thing that she’s quickly identified as a secondary side effect to being in the vicinity of one Brenda Leigh Johnson.

Brenda sits up, mouth agape in surprise with a hand to her chest, “My word, Captain Raydor, I had no idea that you were Mexican!”

Sharon blushes and nods her head, reaching for the shot glass, refusing to let herself be made fun of, “All right, but this was expensive.”

Brenda stops her with a hand atop the older woman’s, lingering just a fraction too long before they both swiftly draw back.

“Get one for yourself and I’ll gladly partake in a Mexican celebration with you, Captain Raydor.”

“No-no, this is for you…”

“I don’t cross the line over to hard liquor unless I have company, so…”

Narrowing her eyes from behind her thick dark frames, Sharon finally gives, lifting her hand to beckon the bartender over. “Another shot of 1800, please.”

“That does sound expensive, how much is that?”

“You don’t want to know.” The second glass is delivered and Sharon lifts it, “Okay, let’s do this. To you.”

“And you, apparently, as you keep remindin’ me.”

They toss back the crystal clear ice cold liquid and Brenda comes up for air with her face scrunched up and gagging while Sharon simply exhales and then licks her lips clean.

“Good lord, that is ‘awful’.”

“Oh--” Sharon rolls her shoulders back as the tequila travels down her throat and into her stomach, “--that woke me up.”

“It’s disgusting…”

“You want another?”

“Yes,” The blonde nods her head, coughing back the lingering shock of the tequila’s sting, “I do.”

Sharon lifts her hand and wiggles her middle and index finger at the young bartender. “Two more,” She says, losing all interest in her glass of wine suddenly in favor of the tequila served to them instantly.

“What should we toast to?

“I don’t know--” Brenda shrugs her shoulders absentmindedly, “--how about to--my terribly outdated fashion sense?”

The blonde drinks before Sharon can disagree.

“I don’t think your fashion sense is all that terrible.”

Brenda laughs sardonically as Sharon knocks back her shot, her hair doing a ridiculous wavy flip Brenda’s only ever seen in Charlie’s Angels. “Well, thank you.”

“It’s not so much terrible as it is--distracting, really.”

“You don’t say.” Brenda tries not to stare when Sharon pulls her jacket off and drapes it over the backrest, “Distracting how?”

“Well, it’s very--loud.”

“Excuse ME. Loud?”

“Oh, no, not loud--” Sharon says quickly, suddenly alarmed. She reaches out and touches Brenda’s shoulder, meaning to reassure her and that’s it, but to both their surprise, her hand lingers. “--I didn’t mean loud,” she says, her voice deeper and more serious, “I meant…people can’t help but look at you, that is what I meant. You attract attention. But I imagine you’d manage that no matter what you wore, you’re that type of a woman.”

The sincerity in the older woman’s gaze is the kicker. Brenda can feel it trickle down her spine and wrap around her lower belly like a belt. She swallows and licks her lips, finding herself stuck there, as if Sharon’s soft touch over her shoulder alone is what keeps her grounded to the earth.

Brenda Leigh is in deep trouble. Deep, deep trouble. She knows this because now that there are no deep hallways to run away through or offices with large windows, refusing to leave them alone with the tension they’ve both been ignoring, there’s only Sharon, obviously drunk, with that ridiculous Charlie’s Angels hair and that ridiculous side smirk that always seems to be hiding something.

Sharon senses this. There is no denying that a crowded bar offers an intimacy that no other scene could and she feels as if she should have known better than this. She pulls back her hand and reaches for her glass, mumbling under her breath, “I think I might be drunk.”

“You want a shot of whiskey?” Is Brenda’s lame attempt at averting a confusing and uncomfortable situation, but Sharon downs the remains of her wine and shakes her head instead.

“No, I think I’ll--be right back.”

Sharon doesn’t pay much attention to the rowdy group of college boys playing darts on her way to the restroom, she doesn’t notice the fairly attractive man giving her the once over as she passes by, nor the woman that checks out her shoes, she is so the definition of tunnel vision in fact, that she doesn’t notice Brenda trailing nervously behind her until the door to the unisex bathroom doesn’t close behind her when she enters it.

Looking back, startled and ready to politely tell whomever it is that she’ll be right out, Sharon stares wide eyed as Brenda locks the door behind them both and then looks just as worried as Sharon does.

“Captain Raydor--”

“Chief, what are you doing?”

It’s a moot subject, as they both know exactly what it is Brenda is doing. Helpless as Sharon looks and guilty as Brenda looks, it’s all blatantly clear, it’s ALL so blatantly clear, their frustration towards each other, the hostile, almost volatile attitude--it’s so obvious.

It’s so, so stupid of them to do this when they both have plenty of reasons not to.

Brenda’s lips are soft, though.

Once the initial shock has passed, Sharon allows herself the luxury of enjoying just how soft, though it doesn’t remain that way because once she reciprocates, Sharon has evidently given Brenda permission to lick the roof of her mouth and suddenly Sharon is on fire.

Brenda’s hands palm Sharon’s breasts expertly. She’d forgotten how much she loves breasts. She’d forgotten how much loves the female form.

Sharon moans as Brenda kisses her neck and presses her hands harder, rolling the heel of her palms against Sharon’s painfully erect nipples.

“Oh--god…” Sharon moans, not knowing what to do with her own hands, opting for Brenda’s hair. It’s soft and silky and it smells sweet. “This isn’t happening.”

Brenda barely hears Sharon, the way the older woman’s nails gently rake against her scalp makes the tingle in her spine grow into a full on wave of arousal that falls way bellow the pit of her stomach and the blonde groans in return, letting her hands grip the other woman’s hip to turn her and push until she’s got Sharon pressed against the door.

A list of things springing from her insecurities burst loudly in Sharon’s conscience then. _She’s never been with a woman, it could be awful, sex in a public bathroom cannot be sanitary, this is going to be uncomfortable at work in the morning--Brenda Leigh is married._

“Does your husband know where you are?”

Brenda stops abruptly then, her face in the crook of Sharon’s neck, her body still, both their breathing audibly heavy against the sound of muffled music and the crowd on the other side of the door.

“Um--” Brenda starts lamely, pressing one palm against the door to carefully push herself off Sharon with minimal contact if possible, “--I think I should--probably go now.”

“Yes.”

Brenda doesn’t look at Sharon when she moves past her and through the door, towards the bar where she intends to pay the tab. Her chest feels tight with emotion and her heart heavy with guilt.

She hands the bartender her credit card and tells him to charge Sharon’s drinks to her tab, as she waits for a receipt, her eyes fall upon the older woman’s jacket, still hanging on her chair. Her hands ache to touch it, but she forces herself to look elsewhere, deciding to make herself forget about this night, while Sharon, still locked in the bar bathroom, splashes her face with cold water and tells herself she’ll do the same, both knowing deep down inside it won’t be as easy as that. Everything has suddenly become so much more complicated.


End file.
